


In Pieces

by wheel_pen



Series: Venkii [11]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip is captured by aliens. Jon, Malcolm, and Mila go after him. Mila is slightly overdramatic in her rescue attempt, and Trip just can’t keep his mouth shut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Venkii are humans who left Earth long ago, and have a few extra enhancements by now. Mila is a young Venkii woman who has joined the crew of the Enterprise, in Engineering. She can communicate with the ship in a special way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

            "A 'misunderstanding'?" Reed repeated with considerable suspicion.

            Archer's expression indicated he agreed, but that it didn't change anything. "That's what they say. We can have him back, but we have to go down there and get him."

            "It would seem unwise to send more crewmembers down to the surface," T'Pol suggested, "when just the one has managed to cause offense in some as yet unknown way."

            "It's not the preferred course of action," Archer admitted, "but I don't see any other choice. Unless you've been able to isolate his biosigns for the transporter?"

            T'Pol shook her head. "Ms. Archelus and I have attempted a number of solutions, but the magnetic interference from the mineral deposits near the administrative complex makes our readings unreliable."

            "I assume _you're_ going to go down there, sir," Malcolm commented evenly. "I could bring a team of MACOs—"

            Archer was already shaking his head. "I'm limited to a team of three," he told them, raising his hand to forestall any objections. "I managed to negotiate it up from _one_. And, no weapons. And, any other devices we bring down, such as communicators, will be confiscated."

            The senior staff were staring at him now. Reed was the first to speak, narrowly beating T'Pol. "Sir—"

            Archer knew what he was going to say and didn't need to hear it. "That's what I had to agree to," he reminded them. "Unless you would rather sit in orbit for six months, with Trip in a jail cell on the planet, until his trial comes around." That shut everyone up. "Malcolm, you'll come with." The Tactical Officer gave a curt nod; in his mind, that was a given. It was a given for Archer as well—although he didn't necessarily look it, Reed was the most dangerous man on the ship. He would be a more-than-adequate substitute for forbidden phase pistols. As for the rest of the technology—"Mila." The brunette looked up in some surprise. "If you come with us, can you keep us in constant contact with the ship?"

            "Yes, sir," she assured him.

            "What about the magnetic interference?" Reed questioned. "It won't affect you?"

            She shook her head. "Any device we had on the ground could cut through the interference—if it had enough power. And I have enough power."

            "And the transporter?" Archer asked her. "In case we need to make a quick exit?"

            Mila thought, very quickly, about how she could pinpoint and amplify signals from each crewmember to cut through the magnetic interference, but she decided not to go into detail unless asked. "I can do it, sir."

            Archer looked at them all grimly. "Then let's go."

 

            The three of them materialized in the lobby of the administrative complex and were immediately met by a trio of guards bearing heavy staffs and unfriendly expressions. Archer had to look _up_ to see the expressions, as the shortest was at least seven feet tall. Slowly, so as not to appear threatening—as if anything he did could appear threatening to these people—he pulled out his communicator, the only one they'd brought along, and flipped it open.

            "Archer to T'Pol," he began, eyes darting between the watchful guards.

            The reply was scratchy, barely comprehensible. " _T'Pol here, Captain_."

            "We've arrived safely."

            " _Acknowledged_."

            One of the guards was already holding out his hand for the device. "I don't think we'll be able to talk anymore," the Captain commented dryly. "Archer out." He closed the communicator and handed it to the grimacing man.

 

            On the Bridge, T'Pol waited in the command chair, wishing Ms. Archelus had been a _little_ more specific about how she intended to contact _Enterprise_ without a communicator. The First Officer didn't even have a frequency she could tell Hoshi to hail. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the Communications Officer suddenly straighten in her seat.

            "Ensign?" T'Pol queried when Hoshi said nothing.

            "Receiving a transmission from the planet," Hoshi finally announced, seemingly perplexed. "Onscreen."

            The viewscreen flickered for a moment, then the image of Captain Archer and Lt. Reed being patted down by enormous muscular men appeared. T'Pol arched an eyebrow. The footage was jerky, changing angle rapidly.

            "We're... seeing what she sees?" Hoshi guessed, open-mouthed.

            "It would seem so," T'Pol confirmed. "Ensign, can you stabilize the image?" They were all in danger of getting motion sickness if they had to watch much more. Hoshi prodded the controls and the picture settled down somewhat.

            "Ms. Archelus," T'Pol declared, "if you can hear me, look up at the ceiling." Immediately the view roamed upwards to the vaulted ceiling of the room, then back down. Captain Archer looked straight into the 'camera' and gave a small nod, acknowledging the connection.

 

            The three guards directed them soberly through a series of rooms deep into the center of the administrative complex. The first thing Mila always looked for was metal—on the walls, floor, ceiling, anywhere that might connect to the central computer in some manner. Much to her despair, this building seemed to be made of stone, with the light fixtures and power connectors few and far between. She supposed she didn't really _need_ to access the computer banks; all she had to do was provide communication to the ship and pinpoint the crew for transport. But she could do so much _more_ than the tasks Archer had set for her—it was her purpose on the ship, after all. And in a hostile situation like this, one never knew when something she and she alone could do might mean the difference between liberty and captivity. Or life and death.

            _Trip's life_. No, not _especially_ Trip, she corrected firmly, glad _Enterprise_ could only see what she _saw_ and not what she _thought_. A member of the crew was in danger—it didn't matter who. Refusing to admit to any nervousness, Mila tried to keep her mind focused on her surroundings.

            Finally they reached some kind of main room, with couches and desks, and were stopped in the center. A door to the side opened and a large, rotund man appeared, flanked by more guards. His manner was officious enough that Archer knew he had to be the head man. "Captain Archer," the man announced when he had reached a couch at the front of the room. "I am Prefect L'task. I am so pleased to finally meet you."

            Archer did not share that pleasure but nodded slightly to acknowledge it. "I was anxious to see you as well, Prefect," he responded truthfully. "I've come to get my crewman."

            "Ah. Yes," the Prefect commented in an odd tone. "Your... _Mr. Tucker_ has caused quite the difficulty for us."

            Archer narrowed his eyes at the man. "I apologize for anything my crewman has done wrong," he assured the leader, only a bit stiff. "I'm sure it was completely unintentional on his part." _I hope._

            "I'm sure of that as well," L'task agreed expansively. "That is why we have agreed to return him to you, instead of holding him for trial. In the interests of good relations between our people."

            Archer realized he was supposed to think this was a magnanimous gesture. Which, he had to allow, under the circumstances it probably was. Although this civilization had warp capability and were occasionally in contact with other species, such instances were still relatively rare. Misunderstandings were bound to occur. He resolved to try to be more appreciative of the man's behavior.

            "We are very grateful for your understanding," Archer replied, making his tone a bit warmer.

            The Prefect smiled. "Bring in the human," he ordered his guards. The side door opened again and a figure was led in, momentarily obscured by the men flanking him. About five meters away from Archer they stopped and forcibly turned him, and the Captain could see why they'd had to stay at his side the whole time: Trip could barely stand up. Just his face was so covered in bruises and cuts that Archer hardly recognized him.

            "Trip!" Archer surged forward and was immediately blocked by two guards, which sent Malcolm into defensive action as well.

            "I'm okay, Cap'n," Trip insisted, though it was clearly an effort to do so. And clearly a lie.

 

            All activity paused on the Bridge of _Enterprise_ as Trip's bloodied and swollen face occupied the center of the viewscreen. "Tell Dr. Phlox to prepare for a patient," T'Pol ordered Hoshi after a moment.

            Archer's voice was furious as he addressed the Prefect. " _What did you do to him?!_ "

            " _Captain_ ," L'task began in a placating tone, " _we did not reach the judgment that Mr. Tucker's... errors were merely a cultural misunderstanding lightly. It was only after much deliberation, consideration_ —"

            " _Beatings?_ " Archer shot back. " _Torture?_ "

            Mila was apparently still staring at Trip. "Ms. Archelus," T'Pol instructed, "please focus on the Captain so we may gain complete information on the situation." Immediately the view swung back to Archer.

 

            The Prefect gave the Captain a sour look. "You must be aware of my position, Captain," he stated coldly. "There are factions within the ruling council who would ban _all_ contact with other species, and kill all aliens on the planet immediately!"

            "Even those you _invited_?" Archer ground out. He took a breath and pulled himself back. There was no point in getting into a debate with this man. L'task was right about one thing—the politics and policies regarding aliens were probably indeed complex, and Archer certainly had no comprehension of their nuances. The important thing was to get Trip and the others back to the ship. "Release him to us, and we'll go. Immediately."

            The Prefect signaled to the guards, who shoved Trip forward. The engineer tried to stumble his way towards the Captain but came up short on strength. All three crewmembers dove forward to catch him before he hit the stone floor. "Trip, are you alright?" Archer couldn't resist asking as they all knelt on the floor.

            "Oh, I expect I'll live," Trip responded in an unenthusiastic tone. "Do me a h—l of a lot of good to see the backside of this place though, Cap'n."

            Archer nodded and stood, facing the Prefect. "We won't trouble you any further," he said, starting to give Mila the signal.

            "Ah, just a moment, Captain," L'task said urgently. "You can't actually leave yet."

            "Oh, we can't," Archer repeated flatly.

            He was about to add, "Watch us," possibly followed by a derogatory name, when the Prefect continued, "The restraints around Mr. Tucker's wrists—they're fitted with a proximity detector. If he leaves this room, they will explode." Archer stared at him, then stared at the cuffs clamped tightly to Trip's arms, then back at the smug administrator. "If he keeps his hands away from any vital organs I daresay he would survive the explosion, but I'm not sure if your culture would find a handless engineer of much value."

            If looks could kill—not just kill, but vaporize slowly and painfully—L'task would be a steaming, screaming pile of goo at the moment. "What do you want?" Archer growled.

            "We must first discuss compensation," the Prefect pointed out, as if it should be obvious.

            "Compensation?!"

 

            Archer took a step out of the frame on the viewscreen; rapid footsteps from the guards' reacting to his movements were heard, followed swiftly by Malcolm joining him. Mila stayed on the floor with Trip, allowing the Bridge crew an even more detailed view of his injuries. T'Pol was about to prompt her again when Hoshi announced, "Commander, we're getting another transmission from the planet—it's a data stream."

            T'Pol glanced at the console over Hoshi's shoulder. "It appears to be medical data on Mr. Tucker," she observed. "Transmit it to Sickbay immediately." The Vulcan made a mental note to ask Ms. Archelus about her ability to mimic a hand scanner when the team had returned from their mission.

 

            If T'Pol _had_ asked, Mila wouldn't have been able to answer her; science was never her strong suit. All she knew was that she could access the medical scanners on _Enterprise_ and transmit the appropriate data to them. She couldn't herself see what they saw—which of Trip's bones were broken as he struggled to sit up on the hard stone floor, whether he was harboring some nasty alien infection in one of the many cuts splayed across his face—but she hoped the information would help the doctor when they finally got out of here.

            "Get behind me a little bit," Trip suggested, with effort, and at first Mila thought he was just being an idiot and trying to shield her somehow. "If I pass out on the floor, Cap'n will really blow his top." Quickly Mila scooted around to Trip's back so he was partially leaning against her. The pressure felt—nice somehow, despite the circumstances. She knew she should focus on the Captain arguing with the Prefect—T'Pol would no doubt be reminding her of that any moment—but the restraints around Trip's wrists that had so infuriated Archer had given her a burst of hope. Not to mention an outlet for her _own_ anger.

            Mila slipped her hand around one restraint, trying to make it look like she was just supportively holding Trip's hand. He seemed a little startled at the contact but she was too busy concentrating—the metal restraints had a wireless connection to some kind of controlling device that emitted proximity readings, and this device _might_ also be tied in to the main computer system. If she could only follow the energy trails home...

            "Mila, what are you doin' here," Trip muttered under his breath, neither of them really listening to Archer and L'task argue in front of them. "These people are _dangerous_."

            "I'm here to save your sorry a-s," Mila whispered to him. He grinned despite the fact that it split his lip open again.

 

            "Ms. Archelus," T'Pol began from the Bridge, "can you disarm the explosive device on the Commander's restraints?"

            " _Already on it_ ," Mila murmured, and Trip looked up at her, confused.

            " _What?_ " She shook her head at him. " _Cap'n's not gonna get anywhere debatin' with him_ ," Trip continued with a snort. " _I been here three days and that man was never at a loss for words once_."

 

            Mila didn't respond; she was trying to look at Archer and L'task while transmitting, so _Enterprise_ would know what was going on, and simultaneously trace the electronic signal from Trip's now-disarmed cuffs back through the air to a router somewhere in the room. And at the same time keep in constant contact with the ship's transporter controls. It was taxing her concentration to the limit but oddly refreshing at the same time, like stretching out muscles that hadn't been properly worked in a long time.

            Trip, however, was oblivious to the effort she was expending and merely felt peeved that on top of everything else he'd suffered, Mila appeared to be ignoring him. "Hey," he hissed, capturing her hands in his. Thwarted from her goal of reaching the main computer core, Mila finally looked at him—with a glare. "I sure am glad to see you, darlin', but d—n, I wish the Cap'n hadn't brought ya. If I gotta stay, if the _three_ of us"—indicating himself, Archer, and Reed—"gotta stay—I want you to get out. Transport back up to the ship."

            "Trip—" Mila began.

            He cut her off. "I'm serious. If the s—t starts to fly you get outta here. T'Pol can send the MACOs in to storm the place if she wants, but I don't want _you_ in one of their cells."

 

            Although one of Trip's eyes was nearly swollen shut and the rest of his visage was mottled by bruises and cuts, T'Pol believed she read his expression and voice modulation correctly—the sentiments he conveyed were _not_ those of concern for a mere colleague. The uncomfortable manner in which the rest of the Bridge crew were averting their eyes from the screen confirmed her suspicions. "Ms. Archelus," T'Pol prompted, reminding her to stay focused. The picture jumped back to Archer and L'task, who appeared to have made little headway in their heated negotiations.

            " _You're such an a-s_ ," Mila murmured tartly to Trip, not loudly enough to cover up the argument a few meters away. " _I'm trying to work here_."

" _Well, I'm in pieces here, darlin', what more do ya want?_ " Trip snapped. " _I mean, J---s, I'm only in this mess 'cause I wouldn't let the high priestess give me the f‑‑‑‑‑g ceremonial B‑‑‑job of Greeting or whatever._ " T'Pol raised an eyebrow at the heretofore unknown reason for Tucker's confinement.

Mila snorted. " _Eww. Gross. That's their tradition?_ "

            "Commander," Hoshi interrupted. "We're getting another data stream. I think it's information about their defensive systems. Mila must have been able to tap the central computer."

            "Send the data to Tactical," T'Pol ordered crisply. "Ensign Sundeep—find a weakness in their defenses, in case we are forced to attack." The officer at Reed's station nodded.

            " _In retrospect_ ," Trip was saying, " _it probably wouldn't have been too bad. The high priestess had a real nice rack, at least, kind of like T'Pol's, but a little smaller_."

            The First Officer straightened immediately, eyes narrowing at the screen. She heard Mila give a knowing snicker, then the Vulcan remarked in a voice ten degrees cooler than normal, "Ms. Archelus, perhaps you should suggest Commander Tucker save his strength and refrain from speaking." Hoshi and Travis dared not make eye contact with each other.

            "... _but I just had a feeling you wouldn't buy my explanation_ ," Trip added dryly.

            " _Oh, that's so romantic_ ," Mila assured him, deeply sarcastic. " _Shut up now_."

 

            The locks on the restraints sprang free with a blessedly soft click; she had left them for last in case it set off some kind of alarm. Trip stared at her in surprise, then tried to pull his hands loose. Mila covered them with her own to stop him. "I'm not done yet," she whispered.

            Trip grinned conspiratorially. "Kick a-s, darlin'."

            L'task and Archer were still arguing. "—not informed of any obligatory acts of—"

            "Ignorance of the law is no excuse, you should have asked—"

            "Raise that stick again and you'll find it lodged someplace unpleasant," Malcolm was growling at a guard who towered over him, resembling a terrier yapping at black lab.

            Suddenly the lights in the room began to flicker. Everyone stopped talking to glance around nervously, then Archer and Reed turned back to Mila. "Can you stand?" she whispered to Trip.

            He thought it over. "That would be a _no_ , darlin'. Gonna be a problem?"

            "It's less dramatic if I'm sitting on the floor," she pointed out, "but I'll do what I can."

            Mila dislodged the useless restraints from Trip's wrists, holding them in her palm. The look in her eye was dangerous. L'task gaped at her for a moment, then started jamming buttons on the arm of his chair down, obviously trying to set off the explosive inside the restraints. The lights around the room blinked faster, ominously, then started to shatter one by one. Sparks showered down on the periphery of the room, each explosion leaving the windowless chamber darker than it was before. Archer and Reed glanced dubiously at each other, then hurried to join Mila and Trip.

            "Seize them!" the Prefect demanded frantically, but the guards seemed panicked—especially when an eerie noise began emanating from the overhead metal ventilation shafts. Trip recognized the tune and wanted to laugh heartily but had to settle for a kind of coughing chuckle. He knew Mila would take to horror films eventually.

            "Nice touch," he commented. The noise level rose to a banshee-like shriek as the room was plunged completely into darkness, save for the ghostly glow illuminating the restraints Mila held. Idly Trip wondered if this display would keep these people from messing with humans and their magical powers again.

            "Time to get out of here, Mila," Archer told her pointedly, helping Reed haul Trip to his feet.

            "Aye, sir." She flung the restraints into the darkness, momentarily spotlighting the terrified face of the Prefect, before she assisted _Enterprise_ 's transporters in bringing them back to the ship.

            They landed directly in Sickbay. Phlox immediately took charge of Trip while Archer punched the intercom button. "We're all aboard, T'Pol. Tactical Alert. Are they readying weapons?"

            " _No, Captain_ ," T'Pol answered smoothly. " _It would appear they are unable to_."

            "Unable?"

            " _Preliminary scans suggest their surface-to-orbit offensive capabilities have been disabled at the source_."

            Archer turned to Mila, who blinked at him innocently. Trip snickered meanly from the biobed he was confined to. "Tell Travis, let's get out of here before they get them repaired," he decided. "I'll be up in a minute." He gave Mila a stern gaze. "How much damage did you do?"

            "Nothing they shouldn't be able to fix, sir," she assured him, then added without remorse, "in a few weeks."

            "Good job," Reed told her heartily.

            Archer decided to save his assessment for later, when he was less apt to agree with Malcolm. He felt a small lecture on the evils of vengeance rattling around in his mind, but right now it was being roundly shouted down by stick-it-to-them triumph. He turned to Phlox. "How is he?"

            "Oh, Commander Tucker's damage shall be repaired considerably faster than that, I should think," the doctor declared. "But, as you noted, Commander, you might want to consider being more open about the local sexual practices in the future," he concurred sagely. "By the way, what a curious human colloquialism—what, exactly, is a 'rack' and what are the properties of having a 'real nice' one?"

            Trip stared at him in surprise, then at Mila, who shrugged. "Had to stay in constant contact with the ship, you know."

            "G-d," Trip sighed, throwing his head back on the pillow. "I'm gonna blame it on brain damage."

            Archer and Reed had no idea what they were talking about and regarded them strangely for a moment. "Let's get to the Bridge," Archer decided, then added just before leaving Sickbay, "And Mila, next time? A little _less_ theatricality would be alright."

            "Yes, sir."


End file.
